Are Silly Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Are Silly

By gone are many years
But not her, she remains.

By now she, is, can be
Grandma, or Mother.

She was doll, small one
And the niece to my love.

We played childishly
And she called me: "Silly."

Word lingers as does she
Dressed white; slowly
Keeps going and coming.

With such scene in my mind
I know what life is like.

Length of time can turn the
Pristine springs
To swamps, ponds; dirty.

Wish had died at that age
Would have been innocent
And praised; with softness.